Ditalini

The literal translation of ditalini is “small fingers,” and I’m partial to this small, short shape because I like the ingredients in a pasta dish to be all roughly the same size—including the pasta. You can substitute any other small short-cut pasta you have on the shelf.

If you like pasta e fagioli, you’ll love this rib-sticking soup that substitutes garbanzo beans for the usual cannellinis and adds some tomatoes for color and flavor. It happens to be my Aunt Raffy’s favorite soup.

Perhaps until the beginning of this century, there came always, in the severe mountains of the Abruzzo, a haunting desperation with the first days of May. Bankrupt of the thin stores conserved to abide the incompassionate winter—their handkerchief-sized patches of earth sown a few weeks before—the contadini (farmers) waited then for the land to give up its first nourishment. Often it came too late and many died. And even as time brought more mercy, these terrible days were remembered, the pain of them soothed by a simple ritual. The story says that on the first of May, sette fanciulle virtuose—seven young virgins— went from house to house in a village in the Marsica, the area that suffered most in the past, and begged whatever handful of the winter food that might remain in the larders. And, then, in the town’s square over a great fire in a cauldron, the fanciulle prepared a beautiful pottage to share with all the villagers, to bring them together, to warm them, to keep them safe. The potion was known as la virtù—the virtue. The soup is still made, ritualistically, faithfully, each first of May in many parts of the Abruzzo—most especially in the environs of Teramo, as well as in the Marsica—now more extravagantly, brightening the humble dried beans with spring’s new harvests. Employing even a handful or so of all the ingredients results in a great potful of the soup, assigning it thus as a festival dish. On some sweet day in May, invite twenty-nine or so good people and make the soup for them. The tail of a pig and one of his ears, though they are traditional to the soup, seem optional to me.

Here’s a soup that comes together in no time, yet tastes as if it has been simmered for hours.

Pistou is a garlic-basil paste almost identical to pesto—the names in fact are the same, just in different dialects. In France it’s used less to dress pasta than to thicken soups while heightening their flavor. Pistou is usually passed at the table so your guests can add as much as they like.

Known as pasta fazool in the Italian American community, this is the cornerstone of Italian soup-making. This recipe traveled easily from Italy along with the early immigrants. Beans and the other ingredients were easy to find, and the technique they used was just like back home. An inexpensive, nutritious soup, it cooked by itself while the woman of the house did her chores. Some options to vary this soup would be to purée part or all of the beans after they have been cooked, and before you add the pasta. This is the version kids love, and it is also used in restaurants for a seemingly elegant touch, although I like to bite into my beans. I also substitute rice or barley for the pasta, a common practice in the north of Italy, where rice is abundant.

Legumes are a big part of the culinary tradition in Italy, and they found a place in Italian American homes as well. Almost every Italian American I spoke with wanted to share a memory of his or her favorite lentil dish. Legumes, especially lentils, deliver a lot of flavor, plus nutritional and economical value, and everyone could afford them. The immigrants ate them a lot, and they are still a favorite in Italian American kitchens. Pasta and beans, pasta e fagioli—or, as Italian Americans call it, pasta fazool—is a traditional meatless Italian dish, although it usually refers to white beans, such as cannellini or borlotti. Pasta fazool probably came from Neapolitan immigrants, derived from the Neapolitan word for beans, fazul. The recipe below is a soup consisting of lentils and pasta, but you can turn it into a dry pasta dish instead of a soup by adding only 5 to 6 cups of water. Or even make the lentils as a vegetable dish by eliminating the 4 cups of water and omitting the ditalini. The pancetta is added for flavor, but to make the soup vegetarian, omit the pancetta and start with the onion.

Every region of Italy has its version of minestrone. The Italian American version seems always to have diced carrots, celery, potatoes, beans, and cabbage, rendering it distinct, with a touch of sour aftertaste. Variations include vegetables that were readily available in the small gardens Italian immigrants kept in their backyards or window boxes. Italian Americans love their minestrone so much that in 1949, Progresso Quality Foods began selling minestrone, as well as pasta e fagioli, in cans as a convenience food. At first the soup was available only in Italian American markets, but soon enough it hit mainstream America.

Both lentils and pasta absorb liquid from the soup base, so add water from the beginning and more during cooking to get the consistency you like.

The 200-year-old L’Europeo, one of the best restaurants in Naples, serves the most delicious rendition of a favorite Neapolitan dish—pasta, patate, e provola. You can probably translate this yourself: pasta, potatoes, and provola cheese—the kind of cheese we usually call “provolone.” All varieties of provola (there are many) are pulled-curd cheeses, like mozzarella, but after they are formed into pear shapes they are hung to dry, and sometimes smoked. Neapolitans have strong opinions on what makes a good dish of pasta, patate, e provola. As prepared by my Neapolitan friend Bruno di Rosa’s mother, Rita, it is considered a soup and eaten with a spoon. At L’Europeo it was definitely a pasta, dense and cheesy and full of flavor—with all the comforts of baked macaroni and cheese.

This garden-fresh medley is a good choice when you want a summery soup that is slightly warm rather than chilled.

Like minestrone, this is an Italian standard. Serve it with Bruschetta (page 159) or fresh garlic bread.

I love beans—any time, any way. And while my preference is to cook my own beans (see page 55), I’m the first to admit that sometimes a can of beans is a lifesaver. For this recipe in particular I have no problems using canned beans, and you shouldn’t either. Having a few cans in the pantry means whipping up this dish is easy—it’s one of my very favorite things to make when I want something super comforting to slurp up and stick to my belly while sitting around watching TV on a Sunday afternoon.

Sprinkling the onions with salt as they cook not only seasons them, but extracts some of the water and intensifies their flavor. Keep the water hot before adding it to the soup, as described below, and you won’t interrupt the cooking—it will flow smoothly from start to end. Remember this when braising meats like the short ribs on page 218, or when making risotto. You can use the method outlined below—bringing the beans to a boil, then soaking them in hot water for an hour—anytime you want to cook beans without soaking them overnight, or anytime you’ve forgotten to soak them a day in advance. It works especially well here because, by soaking the pork along with the beans, you kill two birds with one stone. (I soak the dried or cured pork to remove some of the intense curing-and-smoking flavor. If you like it intense, just rinse the pork under cold water before adding it to the soup.)

Small ditalini and well-cooked broccoli di rape are all you need to make a delicious, warm, nourishing, and comforting dish—moist and almost soupy in consistency. Of course, you need the basic seasoning of the Basilicata cook, too: olive oil, garlic, lots of peperoncino, and pecorino. If you feel the need to add more to this simple dish, slivers of chicken breast can cook right in the pot with the ditalini and will give a meaty substance. Another natural addition would be cubes of provola just before serving (see Wedding Soup, page 299, for tips on adding provola to a soupy dish).

If you're pressed for time, you can sub 1 1/2 cups canned beans for the dried. There's no need to precook the canned beans—just drain and rinse them before adding them to the onions.

The flavor of this pasta fagioli is so haunting and the texture so voluptuous that you'll wonder how such modest ingredients could conspire to create something so indulgent. And what makes it successful as a make-ahead main is that the pasta is cooked separately. I make vats of the bean soup ahead, then each time I reheat a portion, I boil up a fresh batch of dried pasta so the al dente texture balances the creaminess of the soup.

Can be prepared in 45 minutes or less.

Pasta e Fagioli Venetians prize a soup made thick by using mashed beans. This recipe is based on the preparations at Venice's Fiaschetteria Toscana and Osteria alla Bomba. A tablespoon of salt may sound like a lot, but it is needed to bring out the beans' flavor.